


Pleasant Surprise

by ladypigswagon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Halloween, High School, M/M, Stoyd Week, Stoyd Week 2016, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:27:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8370466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladypigswagon/pseuds/ladypigswagon
Summary: Boyd likes to think that he’s used to Stiles antics by now. Used to the borderline insanity, the mouth that just won’t stop running and the frankly bloodthirsty genius flickering behind amber eyes. Stiles isn’t necessarily predictable but Boyd is used to the quirks, the elements of Stiles that make him who he is.However, Stiles still likes to surprise him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have a essay due on the 7th November that I haven't planned or looked at but what the hell, I'm contributing to Stoyd Week. Bashed this out before my Victorian Literature Seminar, so hopefully it's coherent.

Boyd likes to think that he’s used to Stiles antics by now. Used to the borderline insanity, the mouth that just won’t stop running and the frankly bloodthirsty genius flickering behind amber eyes. Stiles isn’t necessarily predictable but Boyd is used to the quirks, the elements of Stiles that make him who he is.

However, Stiles still likes to surprise him.

Stiles shirt is on backwards, he’s wearing odd socks and his hair is still wet from the shower. He looks exhausted which isn’t surprising since they had to shove a particularly malevolent spirit back into its cursed object last night. Boyd can smell that Stiles is hurting, the sour odor of bruises mixing with floral deodorant.

Stiles stops beside the wall that Boyd is leaning against, swings his backpack around and takes out a large bottle of Mountain Dew, a dented can of Monster and a Batman thermos. Stiles pours both liquids into the thermos, shakes it up vigorously before downing it like it’s a two-nickel shot at Jungle.

“I have tests in every hour today and I got 15 minutes of sleep. Desperate times, ya know?” Stiles explains. Boyd nods. He’s found that he doesn’t need to talk to have a conversation with Stiles. Stiles will just fill the void and all Boyd needs to do is agree every so often. He likes that about Stiles, there’s no expectation to contribute if he’s not in the mood to.

It’s not the only thing he likes about Stiles.

“AP classes are kicking my ass,” Stiles continues, “At this point, I’m seriously considering alternate methods to pass. I mean, Harris could ask me to do a striptease for the A and I would do it.”

“If you could get full ride to any college by killing a man, would you do it?” Boyd asks, smirking when Stiles wild eyes flick towards him.

“In a second,” Stiles replies, chucking the empty Monster can over his shoulder. It bounces off the rim of a nearby garbage can, rolling into a patch of dead grass. Stiles turns around to stare at it, throwing an arm around Boyd’s shoulder. Boyd tries to control the urge to turn his head, bury his face in Stiles shoulder and inhale. Stiles points to the can.

“Metaphor for my life, my friend,” Stiles says, his tone a strange mix of sad and fond, “Metaphor for my life.”

//

Boyd doesn’t watch Stiles but he’s constantly aware of him. Could easily pick out his heartbeat if asked, his scent just as simple to discern. Stiles always smells like crackling electricity and freshly mown grass. It’s Boyd’s favourite smell, not that he would ever admit it out loud.

He’s not sure when this crush developed. Initially, he found Stiles too loud and brash, too much to handle without occasional breaks. Perhaps it was when Stiles punched a ghoul in the face, almost breaking his hand, so that Boyd could have more time pull that lead pipe out of his thigh and heal. Perhaps it was when he woke up from a nap on Derek’s couch with a blanket draped over him, a blanket that had Stiles scent all over it. Perhaps it was when Stiles makes coffee, he always makes Boyd’s just right, no one else seems to know how.

Boyd does not know when. He just knows that it happened and he’s accepted it. Stiles is sexually ambivalent, difficult to actually discern when his attraction to men is a joke or genuine. Boyd has never bothered to ask. He is happy to admire from afar, enjoy and manage his crush. This doesn’t mean that in the odd hours of the morning he doesn’t hope for more.

“Let’s all just collectively skip the national exams,” Stiles grumbles, flipping through his AP Chemistry textbook, highlighting aggressively, “Fuck the system.”

Boyd places a hand on Stiles shoulder, squeezing it. Stiles is a tactile person, likes reassurance in soft touches. Stiles groans, letting his head drop down to rest on the textbook. Boyd takes a liberty here, letting the hand glide from Stiles shoulder to the back of his head. What he’s doing constitutes as stroking Stiles, petting really, but Stiles makes a happy sound, moving against Boyd’s hand. Seeking out the comfort. Boyd’s wolf rumbles in pleasure.

Erica drops her bag on the table, startling them both. Boyd retracts his hand; Stiles head shoots up. Erica grins at them, unzipping her bag to pull out her own workload.

“Is this a private study session?” She asks, looking pointedly at Boyd, “Or can anyone join?”

“Have at it Catwoman,” Stiles says, pushing out the chair next to Erica with his foot. “I’m gonna go see if I can scrounge up a past paper from the _librarian_. God I despise that woman, are we sure she’s not a witch?”

Erica shrugs.

“Why don’t we offer you up as a virgin sacrifice and see if she takes the bait?” Erica teases. Stiles fake laughs, flipping Erica off before he goes off to seek out the librarian. Once he’s disappeared around the shelves, Erica turns her attention to Boyd, eyes alight.

“No,” Boyd states. Erica pouts, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

“Boyd, all you need is a little push.”

“No pushing,” Boyd says, “Or pulling. Or scheming, or meddling or any other manner of planning.”

“What are we planning?” Lydia interrupts, commandeering the chair beside Erica. Allison drags one over from a nearby table to join them.

“How to get Stiles and Boyd together,” Erica says. Boyd tries to kick her under the table but she dodges out of the way. “Nice try babe.”

“I think you’d make a cute couple,” Allison says. “And Stiles definitely finds you attractive.”

Lydia nods in agreement, tapping her pale pink nails against Erica’s purple binder.

“Stiles, as clever as he is, is completely blind to this sort of thing,” Lydia says, “Subtlety won’t work.”

Boyd wants to go back to the days where everyone ignored him and he didn’t have meddling friends. 

“True,” Erica agrees, “It needs to be something big and bold.”

“Not public though,” Allison counters, “Stiles would prefer private and intimate.”

“It has to happen organically,” Lydia points out, “Too staged and he’ll feel uncomfortable.”

“Party?” Erica suggests.

Lydia grins, wicked sharp.

“That can be arranged.”

//

Halloween is the official reason for the party but that doesn’t stop Erica from calling it _Stiles and Boyd’s Make Out Party_ when Stiles isn’t in earshot. For once Boyd is grateful that Stiles doesn’t have enhanced senses. There isn’t really a plan, at least not one that Boyd is privy too. Lydia, Erica and Allison seem to get together and giggle every so often. It’s disconcerting.

Boyd stands in the corner of the garden, sipping a beer. Every so often someone will walk past, point at his costume and make an appreciative, ehhhhhh noise. Dressing in Miles Morales’ Spiderman outfit was Erica’s idea, and not necessarily a bad one, but Boyd is hyperaware of how tight the outfit is.

Stiles is over by the punch bowl, looking like Danny Zuko from Grease. Boyd reckons Lydia got a hold of him because there is no way he did the hair himself. He does look good as a greaser, the tight white t-shirt showing off the muscle he has developed over the years. Jeans that are practically painted on.

Stiles catches Boyd’s eye. He grins, cat that got the cream. Scott pats Stiles on the shoulder, says something in his ear before smiling. Stiles waves him away. Boyd could listen in if he wanted to but he respects privacy.

Stiles is slinking over to Boyd, cocky grin on his face. He trips over the corner of a pot plant, stumbling, arms wind-milling but he rights himself. Boyd smiles fondly. Stiles manages to make it over without an further incident. Boyd catches nervousness in his scent, the sort of nervousness that comes with handing in a final essay or talking to someone you find attractive. Boyd puts his beer down.

“Nice suit,” Stiles says. “What’s the material?”

He reaches forward to stroke Boyd’s arm.

“Polyester, I think,” Boyd replies, not entirely sure where this is going.

“Really,” Stiles muses, “I would have said boyfriend material.”

He smirks at Boyd, a nervous, happy smirk as if he’s hoping that his boldness isn’t misplaced. Boyd’s lips part in mild shock. He quickly recovers himself because that line was truly terrible.

“That was an awful pick up line,” Boyd says.

“True,” Stiles replies, “Doesn’t matter if it worked though.”

Boyd yanks Stiles close, kisses him deeply. Stiles moans happily, hands gripping Boyd tight. He nips at Boyd’s bottom lip, teasing and playful.

“Yeah,” Boyd murmurs, “It worked.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Stoyd Week Darlings


End file.
